Fanfiction dot net
by Radio Interference
Summary: SACRIFICES


So what do I put here? Are you expecting me to give you some sort of story? Well, too bad. Fuck that. Writing is for losers. Reading is for losers, too. I'm not a loser. I'm a winner. I'm too cool for that shit. Just because I can, I'm going to run a marathon.

Ah, that was refreshing. What was that too fast for you? Well, too bad. Fuck that, too. I'm Sonic the Hedgehog. I go by the name Sonic, because I'm fast. I'm not just fast, I'm extremely fast. You know I'm not fucking around if it's extreme. The point is, I'm fast. That's the whole point of me. I'm fucking speedy.

I like running fast. And as a result, I can do everything faster. For example, I've stopped talking. But I'm so fast; you're only starting to hear it. I'm faster than the speed of song. I'm fast at everything.

Except fucking. Nah, I take my time on that. Right now I'm fucking this bitch I don't even know. Now I'm done. Now I just punched her in the skull, took back my money, and ran away.

I'm hardcore.

"Alright, that's okay, I guess," the director says. He reviews the script, and begins to speak before a large _thud _noise erupts from outside of the studio, turning just about everyone's head. The noise continues rhythmically. Loud enough to turn heads in the studio. Plastered upon Sonic's face is a wrinkled expression of frustration.

"What the fuck was that?" He says.

The noise continues. The ground shakes with fury. Somehow.

"I don't know," the director says. "That's not in the script. I don't know what it is."

"Well, why don't you check it out, shithead?" Sonic says. He shoves a couple of stagehands out of the way, storming to the exit of the studio and the general direction of the noise. The director and one or two cameramen follow.

* * *

"Oh, Tails, oh, Tails!"

A southern-twanged accent is screaming throughout the sound-stage of studio #98 in the ever-expanding movie lot known as . The ungodly noise formed by a repeated clanging and thudding noise is actually vibrating the floors somehow. The room is nearly pitch black, save for a couple lamps illuminating two animals fucking on a waterbed.

But suddenly, a widening ray of light erupts from the left, slowly but surely revealing the contents of the studio. There is an ungodly shriek from whoever else is in the studio not unlike those videos of basement dwellers for the first time in years. Don't you know? Those videos portray you and I quite accurately, I'd say.

A voice calls out into the shrinking darkness.

"Ho, there!" It begins a familiar, cocky voice. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Sonic the Hedgehog plucks the cigarette from his mouth. He is not a smoker, but as anyone knows, smoking increases your badass quotient. He places the cancer stick back between his lips, inhales deeply, falls into a coughing fit, before focusing a steely glare at the two lying on the waterbed in the throes of passion.

"Bunnie! Miles! Are you filming a porno or something?" He sneers, amused by this development at first, but his expression turns to bewilderment. "Wait, how do you -" he stops, considering the receiver in this case is a robot from the waist down. The best way he can grasp this is clang, clang, clang.

Before Bunnie can explain, a horrid noise comes out from the corner of the studio, the type of audio not heard as much in the ears as it is in the molars and chest.

"What's going on here? Who's ruining my fucking masterpiece?" Another voice calls out. It is clearly female and belongs to a teenager. Out from the corners of the soundstage waddles an abomination of BCS-like proportions.

She might be 5'5 or 5'6 standing upright, but she is hunched over and as a result is half that size. However, she might be another couple of feet wide. At the tips of her fat, grubby-looking fingers lie a distinctive orange powder that one might recognize from the snack food Cheetos.

Her face is acne-ridden and wracked with double-chins and wrinkles. Underneath a red beanie is a bunch of poorly-dyed blue hair, presumably with the intent of resembling an anime character. She wears an Inuyasha shirt and much-too-tight jeans.

One might call her Marie, but around these parts she is known as KawaiiNeko989, smut-writer extraordinaire.

"What's happening, huh?" She cries out, pointing a pudgy accusing finger at Sonic and the director from the previous studio, who has somehow crawled in. "What are you doing here? Can't you see I'm in the process of writing TechnoLove 3?"

"You could say the same for us-" The nameless director starts, before getting cut off by KawaiiNeko989. She has already made her way to Sonic, pushing the director out of the way and leaving a trail of cheese puff dust behind.

"Squee!" She yelps, pressing herself upon Sonic's fur, blushing. "I-I didn't know it was you, Sonic-san…" She says quietly.

In return, the hedgehog shoves her away. "Who the fuck are you?"

The expression of rage returns to KawaiiNeko989's face. "Motherfucker, don't you know who I am?" She yowls. A couple of cocksucking "fans" appear from quickly-developing cracks in the earth to tend to their queen. "He's just a troll," they say. "He's just mad and jealous because he's not as talented a writer as you."

However, she pushes them all away, shooting daggers at Sonic. "Don't you know I'm a goddamn twelve-tailed Kitsune? I could fuck your shit up just like that." She snaps her fingers as if to illustrate a point. Nothing happens. She raises her arms up to the sky in fury.

**"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"**

Another voice begins screaming, one that doesn't belong to any of the current persons in the room. It grows from faint moaning to full-on screaming, as if the screamer is rapidly approaching.

Like clockwork, someone crashes through the roof of the studio, bringing down a couple beams and such. A couple of stagehands are crushed. Tails is crushed as well by a falling steel pillar, but no one cares about him, so let's move on.

KawaiiNeko989 high-steps her way past the chaos to the center of the screaming, which is fading quickly. By the time she has made it to the impact zone, the noise has stopped. She reaches into the suddenly-created crater and pulls out a young man. Almost immediately the young man shoves her to the floor. This young man is….

Radio Interference! Being another one of these self-insert people, I assume. What a fag.

"Who do you think you're fucking with?" She shrieks. "Don't you know who I am?"

"No, I don't." Radio says. Then he begins on a long, long tangent.

"But seriously, who do you think you are? You carry yourself above everyone else, like you're that good of a writer. For the past five minutes that you've existed for this story, you've been a self-righteous, cocky good-for-nothing who somehow believes her generic porn stories are groundbreaking. Anyone can draw a fuck. Anyone can write a fuck.

8=DO

There, I just did it. The more and more you consider yourself God's gift to fanfiction, the more I hate you. Hate. If I could illustrate the hate that I feel for you and your ilk through words, I probably couldn't do it. If you inserted a world's worth of hate into every character in this paragraph, it would only be a quarter of the absolute distaste I have for you."

KawaiiNeko considers this for a while. Maybe to absorb the sheer absurdity of this statement. How does one insult KawaiiNeko, greatest writer of all time?

"Well, if you don't like my stories, you don't have to read them! Or leave reviews!" She flatly argues.

"That is true."

Radio's face contorts into an expression of thoughtfulness and unshaven facial hair. With no change to his face, he slowly continues his rant, dripping with contempt. "However, the internet is free. The internet is a source for information and data. If you put something up on the internet, people are going to view it, Neko. If you are worried about people viewing your context and perhaps finding it unsavory, it's better not to post it."

A couple minutes of silence follows. Some more things fall from above.

"Are you done?" KawaiiNeko989 finally states.

"Yeah, about so." Radio replies, and begins to leave when the ground begins to shake again. Below, the floor of the studio cracks and splinters, creating large crevasses in the earth that leads to infinity. An ungodly scream ricochets off the wall.

**"Goddamnit, I am so fucking tired of your shit!"** A deep, thundering voice calls out from seemingly every crack in the ground. Sonic and the nameless director run for cover, only to be swallowed up by the rapidly increasing canyons in the ground. The sky turns red, and Dozer's Two Coins for Eyes plays in the background.

**"Radio Interference, I am here to judge you and your kinds!"**

KawaiiNeko989 begins to violently shake independently of the chaos surrounding her. She reaches for her stomach, moaning intensely. Radio watches in horror as she continues to vibrate to the point of becoming a blur. A humming noise emanates from her.

KawaiiNeko989 explodes in a shower of guts, gore, bones and half-digested food. Out from what remains of her intestines rises an old black man, dressed in chrome and suede.

"Who are you?" Inquires a blood-splattered Radio. "What are you doing in my story?"

"Who do you think you are, idiot?" The old man snaps, in a voice identical to Radio. Radio steps back in surprise, nearly falling into one of the large holes in the earth. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Well, I'm creating a story wherein I show the error of one fangirl's ways and hopefully turn people into less shitty writers," Radio Interference says. "Is that so bad?"

"No, you fucking idiot!" The man yells. "Do you not understand how self-serving and pretentious this story is? Do you know what you're doing?"

"Yeah, making a kickass story."

"No, it's not kickass. Not in the least. It's an eyesore. No one gives a shit about what you think about their stories. If they do, it's because they're interested in being critiqued, which means they're some sort of sadomasochist or some shit."

"Quite honestly, people treat this website like its sacred ground and get so worked up and pissed when they see bad stories. You do. I do. We all do. When we see something not pleasing or poorly written, we immediately call it a bad story. What constitutes bad? What is bad? "

"Well, you can usually tell a bad stor-"

"Shut the fuck up! You see here? You've got your own standards, whether they be lofty or low, to what constitutes a good story. I may be into mental breakdowns, or flow-of-consciousness writing, but it might be to others tasteless or confusing. You understand what I'm saying here? Fanfiction is dead because we want it to be dead. We perceive it to be dead. We perceive things to be bad when honestly, we don't give a shit. If we didn't care we'd hit the back button on our browsers and forget about it. Everything in fanfiction is by nature flawed."

"Really?" Radio asks.

"Really."

"Alright then," Radio concedes. "But who are you, and why are you approaching me?"

"I'm you in the future, Radio Interference." The man states. "I've arrived to show you the errors in your ways before you totally fuck up -"

"Wait, I fuck up ?" Radio interrupts. "Like, fuck it up with my shit stories? Or mess up the layout? Or DDOS it?"

"No." Future Radio Interference states. "We are going on a trip through time and space, you and I. To right the wrongs of the future, and witness the real sins of fanfiction."

A couple minutes of silence pass. Future Radio shifts awkwardly.

"Wow, the pacing in this story really fucked up, didn't it?" He comments.

"Yeah, now I'm just half-assing it. Is that one of the wrongs I am supposed to right?"

"No."

"Have you seen the trailer for Inception?"

"Yes, it wasn't bad, I suppose."

"It confused me."

"It was intriguing. I'd have to learn more about it before I were to see it, though."

"Wait, what?"


End file.
